A few weeks back I posted a short story: COP. This is a second version of the same tale, told from a different angle.
I watch the street. The donut doesn’t taste like I remember. I want to eat it and I crush the remainder into my mouth and chew and comp. Teeth crushing the dough. I don’t feel any better and I see more jam-stains down my shirt. I can never seem to get it clean.
This car is too hot. I hate sitting here. The heat is rising. Sweat trickles down my back and gathers in the folds – shit, the medicals are coming soon. I won’t pass. I won’t be fit enough. I am, I’m too fat. I can imagine them watching, seeing the dial go further. Then what? Back to a desk? And doctor appointments, weight-loss sessions… I want to eat a huge portion of – lasagne. Amy’s lasagne. She made it so good. I miss it.
I miss her.
The raiders are at the bank she worked at. She looked smart in the uniform, blue and green with the cute cravat. Damn! I think of her colleagues, stuck there now. The negotiator is getting nowhere. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here. Amy wouldn’t want me …. I can hear her voice, shouting at me to ‘help’ – she never shouted, ever.
I’m out the car. It is damn hot and I feel rivers rushing down my shoulders gripping my shirt to my damp skin. Someone calls at me to stop but I carry on. An insulting ‘fatso, donut-eater’ tries to catch me but I quicken my step.
“Hey” I gasp for breath. I hardly moved ten metres. “Hu-hu-hey Pete. Can I try? Hu?” I ask my boss, Gulliver. He gives me the quick look-over, look-down. We both see him cringe. He shrugged it off quick and says: “sure. Why not?” He passes me the speaker. I am aware of his distasteful look, the jam-stains on my shirt, the bulges over my belt, my gun riding too low.
The speaker-phone feels too heavy in my hand but I know I have to try.
I have to try. For Amy’s memory.
And – it’s my job.
this is an extract from my new eBook:
CAKE & 14 Ways to eat it – out soon on Amazon.